


Puppeteer

by rosedarkling



Category: Deep-Sea Prisoner, Mogeko, Okegom, funamusea, 廃れ夢 | Obsolete Dream, 海底囚人, 海底囚人 | Deep-Sea Prisoner, 灰色庭園 | Haiiro Teien | The Gray Garden
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, False Care, Heavy Angst, Illusion of Care, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Mouth Sewn Shut, Psychological Torture, Stitching, Torture, sex denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28650762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosedarkling/pseuds/rosedarkling
Summary: Even gods need a plaything; what better than a devil - and a brother, no less.
Relationships: Fumus/Satanick (Gray Garden)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Puppeteer

**Author's Note:**

> I have quite the few oneshots that I've been steadily piling up bit by bit as I work on gifts and series for others. This is the latest torture fic for Fumusata, so obvious warnings for blood and gore apply. Hope you enjoy this derailed rollercoaster of emotions. ;)

_SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!_

The repetitious banging of Satanick’s face into the tall, rectangular mirror echoed inside Fumus’s private chamber as his older brother slammed his head into the cold glass. Directly behind him, Fumus’s left hand roughly gripped the back of his younger one's head as he pulled him back, only to thrust his head forward once more into the object positioned along the wall opposite Fumus’s bed. Satanick knew that today’s session would involve more torture –as it was always prone to lead to. Still, he hated that his face was the first thing that Fumus had decided to fixate on. Slightly dazed thanks to his brain being rattled around inside his skull, Satanick tried to recall how exactly this happened. Of course, he had willingly come over after Fumus called him, who sounded quite agitated on the phone. Knowing Fumus was already in a bad mood helped Satanick predetermine his resolve that today he would most likely be met with pain. Most days he did not mind – he both loved to give and take torturous methods, especially if it later led to sex – but today seemed off to a somewhat rocky start. All he could remember right now was arriving in Fumus’s bedroom, a small smile on his face to greet his older brother. However, the dark look across Fumus’s face told Satanick all he needed to know. 

Barely a minute here, and already Fumus had forcefully begun dragging Satanick over to this location to begin his definition of fun. Fumus positioned himself behind Satanick’s right shoulder, roughly gripping the back of his head. Satanick met his brother’s glowing purple gaze with his own amethyst eyes in the mirror – eyes that resembled his own in many ways, but filled with a hatred that was almost tangible. A gritted sneer was across Fumus’s sharp teeth as he first brought Satanick’s face harshly into the mirror. “You fucking whore!” Fumus hissed between his teeth. “You avoid me for days and have the audacity to show up with a smile on your face?!” Satanick could not remember much else after that point – only the consistent thumping of his face on the glass as he grunted, trying to catch his breath and gather his thoughts.

Had he been avoiding Fumus? He couldn’t recall. Hadn’t he just been here a few days ago? So why was Fumus so upset? Perhaps a subordinate had failed in one his missions, or perhaps they hadn’t pleased their god enough. Whatever the case, Satanick did not particularly care. Being the ruling devil over his own world was enough of a job, so he perfectly understood the responsibilities that came with beings created to serve him. Be that as it may, when had been the last time that Satanick had harmed a subordinate of his own? Come to think of it, he never had, had he? He had gotten upset with some of their actions, sure, but never had he raised a hand towards any of them. The demons in his world would dare say Satanick was a benevolent lord despite his reputation to be a bit chaotic at times. However, Satanick knew firsthand that the angels of Fumus’s world received no leniency from their god and master; the god did not seem to have a merciful bone in his body some days – not towards his creations and certainly not towards his younger brother.

Ah…. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think with pain starting to radiate through his head.

_SMASH!_

As Fumus’s black fingernails dug into Satanick’s scalp, Satanick’s nose and left cheek met the glass once more. A sickening crack could be heard, and soon the steady drip of blood running down his nostrils and over his split lips told Satanick that his nose was most likely broken. The warmth of his own blood honestly did not bother him – he had dealt with far worse – but it still caused quite the ache to his already battered face. When Fumus lifted him back up, Satanick forced his left eye open to take a quick peek at the sight in front of him. As expected, he was already starting to bruise along the left side of his face. Even among the cracking of the mirror, Satanick could see his pathetic excuse of a face. Pain was common for him – he knew the feeling all too well in so many different aspects – yet seeing his own porcelain skin becoming bruised and bloodied was always a bit of a downer for the devil that thought highly of himself and his looks. Well, he supposed he could heal up later.

_SMASH!_

Another forced slam of his face into the object was all it took for the glass to finally crack just enough for the sliver of shards to begin cutting into Satanick’s cheek. He gritted his teeth at the slight sting, knowing this was nothing. Fumus must have sensed this little discomfort, as the man sneered at this, further pressing Satanick’s face into the mirror so more of the shards began to pop out and prick at Satanick’s flesh. Little drops of blood began to coagulate on Satanick’s left cheek more than the right; this did not seemingly go unnoticed by the observant older half, who easily manipulated Satanick’s head. As his broken nose rotated against the frame – a jolt of pain shooting straight into Satanick’s brain – the god took little effort to rub and embed more of the glass into Satanick’s face.

Back and forth, up and down – Fumus rolled Satanick’s head around as he willed with little resistance from the other. The shards scratched and pierced all over Satanick’s once pale skin, now becoming marred with a mixture of blood, snot, and saliva. Even his eyes felt difficult to open as shards began to scrape against Satanick’s eyelids. At this rate, he wondered if a piece would soon pierce directly into his eye. This only served as a reminder to Satanick about something similar he had done to that flame devil he liked to torment and tease, although he had successfully gouged out those golden eyes. He had bandaged up the bloodied sockets of the crying demon, but Satanick doubted that such a generous thing would be done for him by Fumus.

Come to think of it, his body was not healing as quickly as he hoped it would. Typically his body would naturally begin to heal itself thanks to his ability as a devil lord, yet the process seemed stunted right now. 

Fumus….

Logically, it was always Fumus’s doing. In his rattled brain, Satanick had not even noticed until now that his body was starting to become weaker with each slam, crunch, and slide of his face against the horribly damaged mirror.

Yes; once more, Fumus was slowly taking away everything that made Satanick who he was. On the other hand, the god was perfectly dealing out everything that awakened Satanick's other side.

After what felt like eons, Fumus finally yanked Satanick away from the mirror, admiring his handiwork. What a sight to behold! His poor younger brother’s face was so marred beyond recognition as a mixture of fluids ran down his face. Tiny pieces of glass were sticking out of his skin in certain areas, and Fumus could not help but sneer at such a sight. Even with parts of the mirror missing – a circular imprint clearly marking where the brunt damage had been caused – Fumus loved to see this visage in the fractured object. Satanick might have been taller than him by a few centimeters, yet Fumus had no trouble making this man bend to his will. His hand still embedded in the thick black locks of Satanick’s messy hair, Fumus retracted his arm to bend Satanick’s neck backwards so he could get a good look at him. His brother’s curved horns now rested on Fumus’s left shoulder as the man looked down into such a broken face. He listened as Satanick groaned out, slowly forcing his eyes open. That was the one thing that still had not been damaged – those deep purple eyes that stared back up at him. Their faces were so close to each other, and even among the smell of blood and the sight of such liquids, Fumus noticed one wetness that was not dripping down his brother’s face.

What a pity; Fumus loved to see those eyes cascading with tears. A part of him began to stir a bit in anger that Satanick had not been devastated enough to cry; not even natural tears from having one’s face beaten in could be seen. Fumus gritted his teeth as he hissed down at his unamusing plaything. He debated if he should simply repeatedly stab these eyes to a pulp since they were not cooperating. However, the sight of the glass fragments poking out of Satanick in a variety of directions gave the god another brilliant idea. A conniving smile now curled up the edges of his lips as he breathed down into Satanick’s face. “Not so pretty now, are you, little brother?” A deep chuckle rumbled in Fumus’s chest, vibrating into Satanick’s back before he continued on. “You know, Satanick, you look like a pincushion.”

The younger one simply stared up at Fumus as he tried to breathe in. Having his neck craned backwards was uncomfortable, yet even more so when he felt like he was drowning in his own snot and blood as it dripped down the back of his throat. Just what was Fumus thinking right now? He knew it was going to be something harmful yet again. This pain wasn’t horrid, but it certainly left Satanick feeling weak with how dizzying this first round had left him. Plus, not being able to properly heal up was putting quite a damper on his body and brain to catch up with the rest of him. Masochistic as he was, Satanick could still feel his lower half was working perfectly well judging by the tightness he felt in his pants. Perhaps he could convince Fumus to fuck him instead of damaging other parts of his body any further. At least damage to his pelvic region could be a bit more hidden. Besides, even if Fumus did hurt him there, it would provide some temporary respite and pleasure for Satanick.

“F... Fum… us,” Satanick managed to croak out in a garbled breath as he swallowed back his facial fluids.

Satanick was not even granted the opportunity to finish his request, as Fumus suddenly released Satanick’s hair and slid out from underneath him. With his head still manipulated backwards, it took the devil lord a moment to try to steady himself as vertigo was beginning to take over. He stumbled backwards, bracing to feel his head and back first meet the floor. However, a sudden jolt of energy radiated across his body, and he found himself being flung backwards across the room. Thankfully, the landing was a bit softer as Satanick found himself making impact on Fumus’s bed. The familiar sensation and rustling of the sheets underneath him had Satanick feeling a bit more relaxed despite the horror that had just occurred. Even with his dark suit on, Satanick was grateful for these minor comforts of the coolness of the bed to help his heated body – torture and his high sex drive always left him feeling hot.

Prying open his eyes a bit more, Satanick first heard Fumus shuffling around for something. He attempted to raise his head up a bit to get a look at what Fumus was doing, but blood trickling down his forehead into his eyes left him a bit blinded. Plus, moving his head too much only heightened the sensation of the shards stinging at his skin that were still embedded into his flesh. Satanick could only hope that whatever Fumus was preparing would help him feel slightly better. He did not have to wonder for long as Fumus finally came back over to him. Feeling his brother stretch his legs over him was surely a hopeful sign. His knees dug into the bed beside Satanick’s hips and his pelvis now meshed into Satanick’s. The younger one could not help but groan feeling his erection now aching for release. “Fu – mus – ,” Satanick moaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he naturally ground his hips upwards. His own black nails dug into the bed sheets, anticipating sweet liberation. However, he was suddenly cut off when Fumus’s gloved hand tightly grasped onto his chin. 

Wait, why was Fumus wearing gloves? Well, not that Satanick would complain; however Fumus wanted to get him off was fine with him.

“You miserable slut,” Fumus hissed down at him. “All you can think about is fucking?” Satanick braced himself for a punch across the face as the typical thing would be for Fumus to batter him around when keeping his head still, yet no further pain was added to his already sliced up face. Part of the devil begged him to not open his eyes to see what Fumus was prepping, but curiosity outweighed the rational side of his brain.

Once more cracking open his phlox-colored eyes, Satanick was first met with a distorted view of Fumus looming over him, that signature grin on his face. Even among the blurred vision of red, Satanick could see the curl of his eyebrows. He knew that look all too well – the look of Fumus in bliss at the expense of another’s pain. The only indication Satanick had of what was coming next was a flash of movement on the left-hand side of his peripheral vision. The next second Satanick was once more writhing, but not in the way he had wanted. An intense, slicing pain was spreading through Satanick’s left eye. Straight through his lens and right into the soft organ, Fumus had stabbed a large, jagged piece of the broken mirror right into Satanick’s eye. Even as Fumus’s hand tightened on him to keep him still, Satanick could not help but throw open his mouth in a guttural scream.

Losing his vision in the left eye, Satanick tried to shut his eyes to the pain. Of course, with the shard still being dug into his cornea, Satanick had no choice but to leave his damaged eye open to Fumus’s torture. Tears now began to sting at both of his amethyst orbs, a mixture of blood, tears, and fluid pouring out of his shredded eye. All the while, Fumus scraped and dragged the shard throughout his eyeball. The grating sound of glass against bone now had Satanick wriggling as he let out another scream, this time more choked as he felt more fluids dripping down through his skull and into his throat. He could not help but cry as his eye was literally being torn to shreds. So desperately he wanted to fight back – to push against Fumus, to throw him off of him, to run away. To do so would be an even worse sentence than death; the past was enough to have taught him to properly obey Fumus. All Satanick could do was grunt and bear it as he dug his nails into the bed sheets, hoping that the unceasing suffering in his skull would eventually cease. Maybe Fumus would get bored of this activity and move on? Satanick could only pray for such a thing.

“Shut up,” Fumus cursed down at him. “You’re so annoying.” Typically Fumus did not mind Satanick screaming; it was honestly music to his ears to hear that voice become deep and visceral. Another bonus was finally getting to see those tears running down Satanick’s cheeks and backwards into his pointed ears; whatever blood trailed down alongside them matted into his dark hair. In all fairness, the sight thrilled Fumus to see Satanick in such a state as he trembled underneath him. He knew how desperately the younger man was trying to keep himself together, and the ever increasing bulge behind his trousers was evidence that centuries of training had taught Satanick the pleasures that could come from discomfort. What a pretty sight to look down upon – Satanick’s face marred with an assortment of glass, flesh, and liquids. Fumus paused in his onslaught on Satanick’s left eye to take in such a delightful sight. His little brother always looked so good in red.

“Here. Let me help you settle down.”

Even with Fumus’s voice now taking on a slightly more docile tone, Satanick braced for more pain. He whimpered when Fumus removed the bloodied shard from his eye with a sickening squelch. With his remaining good eye still shut tightly, Satanick was unsure what Fumus was preparing for him, and the continued trepidation haunted him. Feeling the first brush of Fumus’s gloved fingers while his left hand still remained on his chin had Satanick shivering. Fumus certainly had a way with his hands – he could be gentle when he pleased. Even with the gloves providing a barrier between direct skin contact, Satanick longed to feel some semblance of care from these fingertips. The first fiddling of a mirror shard in his face had Satanick now tremble that Fumus was only going to push them further into his skin, yet only a slight sting could be felt as it was plucked from him with a light squishing sound. Then another. And another.

As his body shook in response to the continuous hammering in his face and head, Satanick found himself slowly beginning to relax. Was Fumus… truly taking care of him now? Satanick’s right eye slowly drifted opened, as he did not want to immediately open it all the way lest Fumus decide to completely steal his vision away. Then again, he could easily do that with his eyes closed, Satanick realized; how he despised that he knew that so well. From what he could see of Fumus’s face thanks to his blurry vision and concern for his only line of sight, the man appeared methodical as he focused on removing each of the shards one by one. He was still in quite a bit of distress, yet Satanick could not help but feel himself once more wanting to believe that part of Fumus could care for him. It was not that he exactly needed his brother’s attention or affecting – he had plenty of that tin his world as it was – yet Satanick could not help but feel a sense of longing. Did Fumus… ever truly care for him?

However, this was his brother he was talking about – the one that had introduced Satanick to these sadomasochistic tendencies. Fumus had been the one to teach him the beauty in pain and the trauma in pleasure. To see such a man – a god – actually trying to help him left Satanick feeling once more off-kilter. No matter how many times this song and dance droned on of hurt and tenderness, Satanick could never get used to it. Allowing his eye to close, Satanick could not help but let out a whine as a lone tear leaked out.

The tinkling sound of glass off to his left had Satanick cracking open his eye more to see exactly what Fumus was doing with the removed glass. He could make out the outline of Fumus fiddling with the bloodied little pieces, rolling them between his gloved fingers as if inspecting them. Just what was he thinking? Satanick could not help but ponder this question – one that always ate at his brain and heart. Perhaps it was a blessing he did not know the thoughts that Fumus possessed, though he could not help but long to find out what exactly made this man tick. Fumus’s gaze now trailed back to Satanick, a treacherous grin still plastered across his face. Satanick felt his extremities go completely cold upon hearing just where Fumus’s line of thinking had brought him now: “I found the perfect solution to that noisy mouth of yours.”

No; surely he wouldn’t….

“Open wide,” Fumus said. A command that he made sure Satanick followed through on by forcefully yanking down on his brother’s jaw. Piecing things together, Satanick’s expression turned to one of horror as his singular eye expanded in shock. He could see the various handful of bloodied shards settled in Fumus’s right palm, that same sharp-toothed grin spread across his face. It was the widest he had seen Fumus’s smile in a while. Part of Satanick was glad Fumus could smile, but it was only ever at the expense of his suffering. He knew what Fumus was planning, and Satanick’s stomach dropped at this realization. This was his last chance to speak before he knew it was going to become painful to do so afterwards.

With his mouth forced open, Satanick was able to gargle out one last plea, “Ah – !” It made little difference; in the long run, it never did matter, did it? With a quick slam of his right hand over Satanick’s gaping maw, Satanick could feel the first initial pricks and stings as glass was shoved into his mouth. Lying down on his back did not help matters at all, as Satanick felt some of the tinier slivers threatening to go down his throat. He knew he should remain as still as possible, but with each movement of the glass clusters mingling with his saliva, Satanick could not help but attempt to move his head. This only allowed Fumus to tighten his grip on Satanick’s chin and mouth to keep him from attempting to slip out of his grip.

“I’m doing you a favor, Satanick,” Fumus whispered down at him, though the deep chuckle that slipped past his lips after such a sentence betrayed his “kind” intentions. “If you move too much, it’s only going to become worse. Not that I care if you make it worse. You love the pain, don’t you?” Fumus now removed his left hand off of Satanick’s chin to reach down, roughly gripping onto Satanick’s erection through his pants. This caused Satanick to buck his hips upwards, moaning deeply in the back of his throat as he tilted his head partially back. His eyes enlarged as he realized what a horrible reflex this was, causing Fumus to laugh even deeper now. “You stupid slut.”

Some of the glass that had been pricking the insides of Satanick's mouth and tongue now began to slide down his throat. Instinctively, his throat tightened around these sharp pieces, only further slicing his esophagus and mouth. Feeling choked by these tiny foreign objects made the devil want to gag as he tried to force them back up into his mouth; better they were inside his mouth than stuck in his bloodied throat. However, the more he tried to force them back up, the more glass began to scrape and pierce at his gums, tongue, and throat. Blood and saliva mingled together with bile that threatened to join in, filling his mouth as drop by drop threatened to slide down his gullet. As new hot tears began to burn at Satanick’s eye to mingle with the cold tracks from earlier, he found himself raising his hands up to finally grip at Fumus’s right wrist. The man’s glaring eyes met Satanick’s tearful and pleading gaze as he groaned out, “Mmgghh!” hoping that Fumus would listen to him for once. A swift punch to Satanick’s right temple sent his head snapping towards the left, Fumus’s grip never leaving his mouth. The harshness of such a swing left Satanick’s already splitting head in a further state of disarray. The glass that now was becoming imbedded into his gums, tongue, and throat were of little concern right now as Satanick tried to get the room from spinning out of control.

Fumus leaned in as close as he could, chest to chest, his hot breath growling against Satanick’s right cheek. “Even after all this time, you still don’t get it, do you?! You truly are an idiot,” Fumus spit down at him. “You don’t get a choice in this world, little brother. I am the god of this realm; I am the god of _you_. You do best to remember that.” His merciless eyes stared down at Satanick, whose head now remained still against his bed sheets. The occasional choked breath through his nostrils and shaking body told Fumus that the man was still conscious, and it looked as if he was clinging to the bed now having released Fumus’s wrist. Good; the filth better wise up to never touch him without his permission. Satanick’s eye remained shut, the fluttering of tears on his long black eyelashes soon parting as he cracked his eye open to gaze off to his side. Even with Fumus directly on top of him, he dare not meet his brother’s gaze until told so.

Another wise decision on his part.

After a few seconds of keeping Satanick pinned down, Fumus slowly raised his chest up off of him to look down at the weeping, sullied mess of a man. Slowly, Fumus removed his hand off of Satanick’s mouth, his eyes focused on him to make sure that Satanick dare not try anything like attempting to spit out the glass he had so lovingly prepared for him. Satisfied that Satanick dare not make any false movements, a new malicious grin began to spread across Fumus’s features. “Can’t even speak, can you? Pathetic. As quiet as a doll.” Fumus reached out once more towards Satanick, using the back of his right hand to caress the bloodied mess he had made. Light purples and blacks were beginning to form alongside the man’s temple where Fumus had struck him, only adding to the menagerie of shades that pleased the god.

Satanick shivered feeling Fumus’s soft touch on him, and he could not help but whimper behind his closed lips as another tear found its way rolling out of his eye. How could this man bring him so much pain and pleasure? All it did was leave Satanick more bewildered. Perhaps he really was just as stupid as Fumus accused him of being. After all, he never did learn that this was the repeated cycle destined to continue on for eternity. So why did he expect it to ever be any different? And when – oh, when – would he ever become used to this familiarity?

Pathetic.

That one lonely word echoed in Satanick’s mind. He truly did feel as pitiful as he must look in this moment. Nothing about him stated his status as the lord over an entire underworld. He was at least grateful that nobody would ever see him in such a sorry state. Everything that happened here remained behind closed doors. Only those closest to Satanick would ever see these horrible scars and effects upon his mind and body. Even so, they could never begin to comprehend the full extent to how Satanick was tormented – by his brother, and by his own mind.

A glimmer in Fumus’s eyes told Satanick all he needed to know in this moment; the torture was far from over. Raising his hand from Satanick’s face, Fumus easily manifested his newest set of tools. A thick, sharp needle was plucked between his fingers, and dangling from its loop was a thick, black string, though it was much thicker than that of a normal thread. Yet again, Fumus grabbed ahold of Satanick’s chin in his left hand, this time a bit more gently than earlier. Rotating Satanick’s head so they were face to face once more, Fumus gave a twisted, soft smile down at the teary-eyed devil lord. “Stay still, Satanick. I wouldn’t want to mess up your pretty face.” With a chuckle, Fumus brought the needle down and up through Satanick’s bottom lip - the start of his new sewing objective.

_I hate this! I hate this! I hate this!_

Satanick internally screamed, ire tearing and shredding his insides the way those shards were. His entire head ached, as did his weary heart and mind. It did not help that he was still experiencing the occasional jolt of pleasure through his groin with each methodical stich that Fumus placed across his mouth. Fumus had trained him well enough to appreciate the gratification that such pangs could bring. Be that as it may, despair and self-wallowing was not something that Satanick was capable of coping with. No matter what his flesh told him, he still found these moments excruciating, especially with the way Fumus stared at him. His eyes still held that gleam in them, though they seemed to fade to more of his normal gray color as he concentrated on his newfound project. His dark gray hair with those blood-red undertones shadowed his piercing eyes. Even his lips were slightly parted as he kept his hyper-fixation on sliding the needle and thread repeatedly through Satanick’s lips. Each prick became a sting as Fumus trailed x-shaped patterns over his brother’s mouth, cinching his cracked and bloodied lips shut. 

This exchange was far too… intimate. The way Fumus stared down at him as if he was tenderly caring for Satanick. On the outside looking in, one might assume so with the way he focused solely on making Satanick into the perfect doll. Satanick felt his heart being cut even deeper, and not from those blasted mirror pieces that were steadily trailing down his gullet. Still, Satanick found it hard to tear his gaze away from Fumus. It was only during these times that he could witness such a look from Fumus – a tenderness only reserved for when he was enjoying himself at his brother’s expense. Why should he complain? After all, it was a little brother’s duty to make sure that his elder was happy.

More hot tears streamed down Satanick’s right cheek, agitating the cuts that were still present on his once unblemished skin. He could not help but let out a choked sniffle as his nose filled with snot, which only aggravated the “food” he’d been fed earlier. Seeing Fumus’s eyes meet his and a tiny grin across his face only caused Satanick to cry harder. He dug his black-colored nails into the bed sheets, needing some stability to hold onto. At this rate, he was ready to give in to the waves that threatened to swallow him up.

The last thing he remembered seeing was Fumus now snipping off the end of the thread with a freshly manifested pair of scissors. Even among the blur of tears and his consciousness fading, Satanick could see just how sharp they were.

The last thing he felt was Fumus’s right fingertips fluttering across his pristine stitch job, that same pleased grin across his lips.

The last thing he heard was Fumus’s deep yet almost soft tone whispering out, “I’ll be sure to take care of my lovely puppet.” 

The devil lord soon let his all of his senses fade into the welcoming darkness that had been waiting at the edges of his mind. 

It was a tad disappointing that Satanick had passed out, and Fumus was half-tempted to have woken him back up with a swift stab of his scissors into the gut. It was much more fun to indulge in the man’s broken sobs and moans, but the god supposed that it was more lucrative for Satanick to be passed out; this way he would not hinder Fumus’s progress with his wiggling. Plus, those cries of his could become grating on the nerves after a while. With a shrug, Fumus slowly slid off of Satanick’s body, giving a momentary glance at the bloodied sheets underneath Satanick’s head. No matter; he would just have one of his angels take care of this later. For now, it was a welcome puddle that would soon be growing in size after he made the final preparations.

Being a god allotted Fumus plenty of opportunities to make his job easier, but that paled in comparison to having hands-on fun. With quick precision, Fumus began cutting at Satanick’s suit, tearing off the lower portions of the arms and legs. An ugly choice of fashion design, but one that would provide Fumus with enough space to work with.

In a matter of minutes, Fumus had successfully rolled Satanick over to begin putting the final touches on his new toy. A thicker needle and thread were now his tools of choice as he began crisscrossing new strands along the back of Satanick’s forearms and calves. These spots would function as the perfect way to string up his new puppet. The entry and exit wounds that this needle left were quite more prominent than the ones on Satanick’s lips, but that was the beauty of it. Plus, it did add more color to his already tainted bedspread. With the thick lines hanging off of Satanick’s extremities, Fumus gave a mere snap of his fingers, watching as the threads began to snake their way up the bedposts and entangle themselves around each the head of each one. This left Satanick’s unconscious form dangling in the perfect position above Fumus’s bed. Trails of blood dripped steadily off of Satanick’s’ arms and legs now that he was stretched tautly across the ceiling of Fumus’s canopy. The god admired his accomplishments as he saw the bit of slack he’d given to these entrapping vines. With the weight of his brother’s body hanging down, the stitching pulled at the devil’s flesh. How Fumus could not wait for Satanick to wake to this revelation and experience the tug on his own skin. 

Positioning himself to get a good look at his newest toy, Fumus could not help but admire the spectacle in front of him. A disfigured, bloodied, and sutured mess of a devil hung precariously above his bed. His younger brother’s neck lolled down, his one good eye remaining shut in ignorant sleep at his current status. How delightful it would be to watch him wake and experience the panic of realizing where he was. Would Satanick writhe and try to escape, only to tear open these new wounds? Or would he remain perfectly still, having to suffer in silence? The possiblities already excited the sadistic god. Knowing Satanick, he probably was hoping this had all been a nightmare; luckily for Fumus, this was reality.

With a satisfaction spreading throughout his being, Fumus decided to treat himself to the view. Pulling his ever present cigarettes and lighter out of his rear right pocket, Fumus lit one up as he sat down on the edge of his bed. With the nicotine perched between his left pointer and middle fingers, Fumus rotated so he could prop himself up against his pillows. After allowing the flavor to settle into his lungs in a familiar, warm embrace, he exhaled up at the ceiling.

As the smoke ascended and faded over his puppet, Fumus’s eyes once more lit up in amusement as new ideas began to spring forth in his dark mind.

He could hardly wait to play the role of puppeteer. 


End file.
